


Glitter in the Air

by LRRH17



Category: Sherlock (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Post-Avengers (2012), Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-16 09:14:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19645147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LRRH17/pseuds/LRRH17
Summary: Molly invites a stranger to come inside.[based on P!nk's "Glitter in the Air"]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this fic on FFN back in 2015, under the same name - so if this looks familiar, it probably is! :) Takes place post-TRF, and after The Avengers with the thought that Loki somehow escaped at the end of the movie.

_Have you ever invited a stranger to come inside?_  
_Have you ever looked fear in the face and said, “I just don’t care”?_

* * *

He’s bruised, bloody, scraped, and ragged-looking, slumped in a doorway a few feet away from her flat’s main lobby. His dark hair hangs over his sunken eyes, his strange garb drenched from the freezing rain.

Her heart breaks at the sight of him. He looks broken, and all too similar to a man she found years ago – a detective, a genius – slumped in that same doorway, overdosing on heroin.

She always takes care of the broken ones, she realizes bitterly. She always ends up involved with the damaged ones, trying to fix them even if they don’t _want_ to be fixed. It’s her blessing, her gift – and her curse.

Without hesitation, she approaches him like she would a skittish horse – slow and steady, quiet, gentle, careful. No sudden, startling movements that might hurt him even more than he already is. 

She crouches down beside him, her umbrella capturing him beneath its wide canopy. When he does not glance up at her presence, she gently places her hand on his arm, hoping to coax his gaze up to hers. 

Still nothing.

Forcing away her usual timidity, she asks, “Are you alright?” 

He gives a small start at the sound of her voice, blinking the rain away from his eyelashes. The brilliant blue-green hue of his eyes startles her for a second as his gaze locks on hers through the dark, stringy strands of his hair still dripping with water.

She is mesmerized by the intelligence shining through his eyes. It’s the kind of intelligence she’s only seen in a high-functioning sociopath, and a madman she believed to be an intern from the hospital. It’s the kind of intelligence that makes her ponder her incompetence, and that of countless other goldfish swimming through daily life. It’s the kind of intelligence that simultaneously frightens and amazes her.

She’s learned the hard way just how incredibly dangerous this intellect can be. Countless times, she has found herself in the line of fire, so to speak, involved with others with this same look. 

_Maybe it’s just my type._

She fights back a smirk as the thought crosses her mind. 

He still hasn’t answered her.

“I’m Molly,” she says quietly, trying a different tactic. “I live right down the street. Do you need help?”

Glancing down briefly at her hand (still resting loosely on his arm), he slowly nods his head twice. _Yes._

“Okay. Well, we’ll have to walk a few doors down.” Swallowing the sudden fear of inviting a stranger into her home, Molly keeps her eyes fixed on his penetrating gaze. “Can you manage to stand?”

Without even so much as another nod, he begins to push himself off the pavement, forcing her to jump back quickly to give him room. 

As soon as his feet are under him, though, he loses his balance, stumbling sideways. Molly tosses her umbrella down and throws her arm around his waist, catching him before he can collapse and cause himself more damage. Grabbing his left arm in her free hand, she tosses it over her shoulder, transferring his body weight onto her. For a split second, she thinks he’s speaking to her, but then realizes he’s growling at himself and his weakness, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

Molly would recognize that look of self-loathing anywhere. It’s a look she’s become far too familiar with these past few months, being forced to see it daily in the eyes of the man who couldn’t stop his best friend from jumping off a roof, or the detective inspector who blames himself for the same tragedy. But it’s also a look she has seen countless times in the mirror, her own eyes staring at herself with anger and hatred for her shy, pushover tendencies.

The man finally seems to notice Molly’s attention, looking down at her from his looming height. His eyes darken considerably, replacing the look of the wounded animal she found huddled in the corner with something completely new and dangerous. 

Swallowing anxiously, Molly breaks his gaze and begins to guide him towards her flat. As they stumble down the road, the pouring rain drenching them both, she can’t help but wonder what on Earth she’s gotten herself into this time.


	2. Chapter 2

_Have you ever fed a lover with just your hands?  
Closed your eyes, and trusted – just trusted?_

* * *

Once inside her flat, Molly eases the man onto her sofa. Exhausted from his weight, she winces along with him as he flops rather ungracefully over the soft, plaid arm. Throwing off her raincoat, she hurriedly flicks on the lights as she makes her way down the hall to the linen closet. Grabbing several towels, first aid materials, and an extra pair of Sherlock’s pajamas (left here should he need to make use of her flat during his time “away”), she practically sprints back to him. She deposits the pile of cloth on his lap, but he makes no move to dry himself. Kneeling down beside the couch, she opens the first aid kit and prepares to clean both blood and rain from his pale face.

He keeps his eyes on hers the entire time, hissing in pain only when she dabs at the long cut stretching down from his eyebrow. Molly bites her lip, mumbling apologies as she cleans and bandages the wound. Satisfied with her work, she reaches out to pat his knee reassuringly…only to be stopped dead in her tracks when he physically flinches away from her touch. 

Sighing, she makes it halfway to the kitchen before she is stopped again. 

“Thank you, Molly.” 

It’s barely above a whisper, but she hears it all the same.

“You’re welcome,” she replies, the corner of her mouth tilting up in a half-smile. “What’s your name?”

He stays silent for a beat, making Molly wonder if he’ll answer at all. Finally, the reply comes: “Loki.”

“Well, Loki,” she calls out as she continues into the kitchen, “are you hungry? I’ll make some toast, and tea.” Pausing at the counter, she leans over so she can see his face. “Is…is that alright?” 

Another beat, and he nods, making her wonder if he will return to silence. _It wouldn’t surprise me_ , she muses as she turns back to the kettle. Extreme trauma can easily cause someone to stop speaking altogether. She’s heard of and seen similar cases in the past. If this man’s mental and emotional trauma is as extensive as the physical beating he took, then there’s little wonder he refuses to speak.

Molly hurries back to his side as soon as both tea and toast are ready, not daring to leave him unattended for long. She sets both cup and plate before him on the coffee table with the hopes that the smell will entice him to sit forward and eat. If his strength returns, she reasons, perhaps his desire to speak will as well. 

_Apparently not._

Sitting in her favorite blue armchair, she watches as Loki stares blankly at the toast for several minutes, never once reaching for it himself.

“It’s going to go cold,” Molly says quietly. Still, he doesn’t move.

Sighing, she gets up from the chair and sits beside him on the sofa. He gives her a sideways glance out of the corner of his eye before returning his gaze to the coffee table.

Molly balances the plate on her knees, breaking a half a piece of toast into even smaller pieces. Praying that what she is about to do won’t close him off even more, she turns toward him, a tiny piece of toast in her hand.

“Alright, open up,” she says teasingly, smiling.

Loki’s expression is priceless. Molly has to remind herself, very sternly, not to laugh at the absolutely dumbfounded look he’s currently giving her.

But if he won’t eat it himself…she’s going to make him. Funny expression or not, she’s not willing to let this battered man starve. 

“Clearly you weren’t going to eat any of this on your own.” She waves it before him as she would for a child. “And you have to eat. So…open up.”

His confusion turns to anger as he glares at her defiantly, his jaw set. Reluctantly, he stretches out his hand, taking the bit of toast and eating it himself. 

Molly smiles. “There you go.”

Loki finishes the toast and drinks the tea, all under Molly’s watchful eye. Satisfied, she now urges him to wash up, promising that he’ll feel better. She helps him to the bathroom, giving him Sherlock’s pajamas and a spare toothbrush. 

Waiting for him, Molly turns on the late-night news. _Working all day and then tending to a mysterious stranger takes up quite a bit of a girl’s time,_ she thinks wryly. _The world could be coming to end and I’d have no clue!_

The irony of that thought is not lost on her as her eyes widen at the devastation shown by an aerial view of New York City. Once sweeping skyscrapers now lie in pieces on the ground, charred rubble the only thing left. 

_“New York City was saved from total annihilation today by The Avengers, a team of superheroes called upon by the U.S. government. A hostile extraterrestrial force was the apparent cause of the destruction. The leader of this force, a ‘god’ named Loki Laufeyson…”_

Molly’s jaw drops.

_“…was in custody, but escaped earlier this afternoon, and is currently hiding somewhere here on Earth. If you have any information regarding….”_

There on her television screen, smirking and staring mischievously into the camera, is her strange houseguest. The footage captures that dangerous glint she had seen in his eyes earlier. He strolls languidly down a corridor, green cape billowing behind him and a golden spear in his hand. The whole image is absolutely terrifying.

There’s no trace of the “helpless” man she brought into her home. The man she bandaged and fed. The quiet, reserved man who spoke very little, yet thanked her for her kindness. 

_The man now brushing his teeth in my bathroom._


	3. Chapter 3

_Have you ever been touched so gently you had to cry?_

* * *

“Sometimes, I believe, ignorance is indeed bliss.”

Molly gasps in surprise at the sound of Loki’s voice, the remote control toppling from her hand to the floor with a soft thud. She jumps up from the couch, heart pounding as she whirls to face him. He’s still clad in his strange attire, Sherlock’s pajamas left in a neat pile on the kitchen counter. She has no idea how, but he appears far stronger than he did when she left him just a few moments ago. 

“I – I don’t – I –”

“I won’t harm you.”

She laughs nervously. “New York City says otherwise.”

Loki gives her a lopsided, suspicious grin. “ _You_ are not New York City.”

“That’s rather lovely and all, but…I – I don’t –” she stutters again.

He takes a single step towards her; she takes a single step back. 

“You must trust me, Molly.” 

“Trust you?!” she exclaims, panicking. “Trust the man – no, ‘ _god_ ’ – who destroyed an entire city?! How exactly do you propose I do that?”

“It’s simple, really. You close your eyes and give in – just as I did when you came to me earlier.”

“That’s completely different. You could’ve died if I hadn’t helped you.”

His eyes darken as he walks slowly, deliberately around the sofa, coming closer with every step. The image perfectly matches the one on screen a few moments ago – except now, he isn’t grinning. “Then you should not have helped me. I did not _ask_ for your assistance.” 

“Then-then why did you accept my help?” she asks, continuing to back away from him. “Clearly you’re capable of…fixing yourself.” She waves a hand in his direction, indicating his new-found strength.

“I had no desire to _fix myself_ ,” he imitates her with derision.

With all her usual tact, Molly can’t help but ask: “Why?”

She jumps nearly a foot in the air when Loki slams his hands down on the wooden coffee table before him, shaking the entire flat. _“If you hadn’t found me, I’d be DEAD!”_ he roars. _“Perhaps then the world would forget the MONSTER who destroyed an entire city and REJOICE IN THE END OF MY EXISTENCE!”_

He stares her down from across the room, chest heaving, eyes a wild mix of pure hatred, vulnerability, and brokenness. 

After what feels like an eternity, he sinks to his knees, pressing his forehead against the coffee table. From her place in the corner, Molly watches all the rage drain out of him. His tormented words sink in in the silence. 

Her heart breaks.

Swallowing her fear, Molly edges back towards the sofa, kneeling silently beside Loki. His eyes are closed, but the single tear that has escaped rolls down his cheek.

_I need a new type_.

Before she can convince herself otherwise, she gently wipes away the tear, smoothing his hair back from his face. He lifts his head, his eyes – now an icy blue – boring into hers.

She’s always been good at reading others. She may not be as good with deductions and observations as the great Sherlock Holmes, but she knows how to read the emotions in others’ eyes. 

Loki’s eyes betray his defiant expression. In those eyes, she sees years of torment and self-loathing. She sees a man haunted by his past, threatened by the present, and terrified of the future. _His_ future.

Molly sees no monster in those eyes.

A phrase she heard once long ago floats through her mind. “Pitiful creature of darkness,” she whispers, nearly inaudibly. “What kind of life have you known?” Loki’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry,” she continues, gently placing her hand atop his still-clenched fist. He looks down at their hands, a look of utter bewilderment on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be so…forward.” 

“Don’t _touch_ me,” he growls, turning away. “I do not want your _pity_.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Loki laughs bitterly. “What could you possibly know about me? You’ve only known me for a few hours. For all you know, I could still kill you.”

Swallowing her fear at his words, Molly settles down on the floor beside him, even if he refuses to meet her eyes. “Well,” she begins, “I know – I mean, I _knew_ – someone very much like you. He always thought he was a monster. He never believed me when I told him otherwise, of course, but I always tried.” 

She pauses. It’s unbearably difficult speaking about Sherlock in the past tense. “Before he died, he…he told me something. He told me that I mattered; that I counted. I’d always counted to him, and he’d always trusted me.” She smiles at the memory, a faraway look in her eyes. “At first, I didn’t realize why he told me that, but now I know. I always look for the good in people. I believe that it’s always there, deep down, no matter who they are, where they come from, or what they might’ve done. And Sherlock…he knew it. I believed in him – and I _still_ believe in him, even now that he’s disgraced and gone. Even now, when everyone believes he is – _was_ – just a fraud. And he wanted me to know that…that that mattered to him. That he appreciated my unwavering loyalty.

“That’s why I know that _you_ can’t be a monster, either. I can see people – really, truly, _see_ them for who they are. That’s my gift, I suppose. And I can see you, Loki.” Molly holds her breath, hoping that her words have touched him somehow.

After what seems like an eternity, Loki finally speaks. “This friend of yours…Sherlock…how did he die?”

“Well, actually, he…he committed suicide. He jumped off of a building. My work building, in fact.”

His eyes fly up to hers, and for a brief moment, he almost seems sympathetic. “That must have been difficult.”

Molly gives him a sad smile. “It was. But…I’m learning to deal with it, you know?” She pauses as he looks away again. “So – what’s _your_ story?” she asks playfully.

He laughs darkly. “I can assure you that you do not wish to know.”

She squeezes his hand in encouragement. “Tell me anyway. I haven’t talked about Sherlock like that since he died. And now that I have…I feel a bit better. Believe me – the only way to heal is to talk about these things.” 

Loki scoffs. “Oh yes. Talking to a tiny mortal woman about the lies I was told all my life – by the man I called ‘father,’ no less – and my failed attempt at world domination will make my life magically perfect.” 

Molly gives him a hopeful smile. “It’s a start.”

He sighs, defeated, meeting her gaze at last. “It is not a pretty story.”

“I do post-mortems. Believe me; I know stories that aren’t pretty.”

Loki smirks. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone spot the Phantom of the Opera reference? ;)


	4. Chapter 4

_It’s only half past the point of no return:  
The tip of the iceberg, the sun before the burn._

_It’s only half past the point of oblivion:  
The hourglass on the table, the walk before the run._

* * *

Loki watches Molly carefully, waiting for any kind of reaction. She’d listened to his entire tale, interrupting only a few times, when he’d spoken of things she did not understand – things not of this world. He glances at the clock on the wall. He hadn’t realized he’d been talking for over three hours. 

He enjoys talking to her.

The thought hits him like a blow to the back of the head, rendering him motionless, yet awakening him at the same time. For a reason he cannot explain, she is capable of making him speak freely about his past. 

She is rather interesting, for a mortal. She knows her flaws, and recognizes the faults of those around her – yet believes in their goodness. It’s quite a change from his consistently negative view of those around him. 

He has always sought out – and found – the darkness in himself. How can she possibly see something good in him?

Finally, Molly speaks, breaking the silence. “It’s simple. You have to turn yourself in.”

Loki simply stares at her. “Are you mad?”

Molly frowns. “No, I’m completely sane. And serious. Loki, you _have_ to go back.”

“And-and what? Let them throw me in a cage in their dungeon? Let them hate me even more than they always have?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t think they’ve ever hated you.”

He scoffs, turning away. “Please.”

“Well, they may not like you very much right now,” she concedes. “But imagine how well thought-of you’d be if you went back _willingly_. They would see how much you’ve changed.” 

Molly pauses when she sees his expression.

“What makes you think I _have_ changed?” 

The words are low, dark, and menacing. Loki knows he’s scaring her, but he can’t help it. He hasn’t changed. Of that he is certain. He still feels hatred pounding through his skull, trying to consume all of his thoughts. Beneath it lingers the need to crush those who have harmed him. He has not contained such dark feelings for a long time – not since that fateful day in the weapons vault. Just hours ago, laying there bleeding in the rain, he thought he’d never have to contain them again. 

But how can he explain all this to the strange girl before him?

Suddenly, Molly places her hand on his shoulder, pulling him back from his mind. 

In that moment – in that touch – he feels all the anger, all the hatred – the will to _destroy_ – simply settle. They do not disappear, but every ill feeling stills for a moment, frozen by her calm presence. 

“How do you do that?” he murmurs, before he realizes what he is saying.

“Do what?”

“Whatever it is you have just done to my mind.”

Molly laughs quietly. “It’s called compassion. It goes a long way, you know.”

Loki allows himself a small smile. “So I’ve heard.”

“See – you _have_ changed. I doubt that the Loki you described from three years ago, or even three _days_ ago, would have acknowledged that I could help you. He certainly wouldn’t have smiled like that over something so simple.” She pauses a moment, thinking. “You’re only half past the point of no return. You can still come back from this. What you did in New York…you made a mistake. A huge, terrible mistake, but a mistake all the same. And if I’ve learned anything from my own family and friends, it’s that mistakes can always be undone. Forgiveness can always be won.” She tilts her head so that he is forced to meet her eyes. “You _can_ and _will_ be forgiven, Loki.”

He remains silent, contemplating her words. Forgiveness? _True_ forgiveness? Is that a possibility now, after all he has done?

“I do have one question, though.” Her voice breaks through his thoughts. “Why? Why did you allow your hatred to consume you? I mean, all those lies your own family told you were unacceptable. They still are. But…why did you let it go so far?”

Loki closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. He reaches into the recesses of his mind, assessing the quantity and quality of his remaining power. After so many days of pushing himself to the limit, and then attempting to heal himself earlier, he knows that what he is about to propose will strain him even further. He won’t be able to defend himself for several days. Even worse, it’s the first time he’ll ever let someone into his mind in such a personal way. 

The thought terrifies him, even though he will never admit it aloud.

_But I trust her._

It is the truth. No matter how much he wishes he could deny it, it is the truth. She is the first person to win his trust in many years.

“May I show you?”

“Sh-show me?” she stutters, disbelief evident in her tone. “How can you possibly _show_ me?”

“I can take you through the emotions associated with my memories.”

“ _Really?_ That’s amazing.”

“Close your eyes.” Molly holds his gaze for a moment longer, then does as he says. “I’m going to put my arm around you. Is that alright?” She nods. Loki gently places his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to his side. “I must warn you, Molly, this will not be enjoyable. It is worse than my ‘story,’ as you call it. But it will teach you what you wish to know.”

Molly nods, leaning against him.

Summoning all the power he has left, Loki closes his eyes as well, and sends them plummeting into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

_The thunder before the lightning, and the breath before the phrase –_  
_Have you ever felt this way?_  
 _Have you ever wished for an endless night?_

* * *

_Happiness._

_It fills her to the brim, making her grin even though she cannot see a thing. All is dark._

_But then…jealousy. Jealousy wraps its icy claws around her heart, making her angry and desperate. She wants acceptance. She wants to be more than a shadow, hovering on the edges of society – **and** reality. She wants it more than anything she’s ever wanted in her whole life. Don’t they see? If they let him take the throne, everything they have ever worked for will be destroyed._

_Then, the utter betrayal sets in._

_She feels ugly and lost, lonely and hated. She has been betrayed by her family, lied to all along. She is a monster._

_She wants – **needs** – to prove herself. _

_For a brief moment, she does. She can feel the power rushing through her veins, pulsing as electricity – blue, crackling, sparkling electricity. And every last bit of it belongs to her._

_Then, suddenly, she is falling. Her heart pounds as the wind rushes up around her, spinning her senseless and driving her mad. She is vaguely aware of Loki’s arm still around her – it’s the only tangible thing left – so she wraps her arms around him, clinging to him for dear life._

_They land with a thunderous crash, pain shooting through her. She is terrified that she will be ripped away from Loki in this dark place. It feels treacherous and hostile, smoke wrapping around her legs like tendrils of ivy._

_Pain._

_Pain pain pain pain pain PAIN PAIN PAIN **PAIN PAIN PAIN**_

_It overwhelms her. She would do **anything** to make it stop. _

_Turning her tear-stained face into his chest, she cries, but no sound comes out. He wraps his arms around her protectively, but she feels no comfort here in the dark._

_With a burst of wind, the pain disappears…_

_Only to be replaced by absolute rage._

_Rage, burning beneath her skin, begging to be released. Hatred, flowing like magic, obliterating lives with ease. She feels powerful. She feels alive._

_There is no remorse in any corner of her heart. She wonders, for a moment, if she even has one. The moment disappears just as quickly as it came, though, replaced by the simple need to destruct. To wreak havoc. To exact revenge._

_And then…_

_Emptiness._

_She feels the disgust from her own actions creeping back into her conscience, the self-loathing building until it is unbearable. She begins to cry again, clinging to Loki with all of her strength._

_She feels rain pouring down on them, drenching her hair, falling into her eyes. She wonders if she’ll die here, bruised, bloodied, alone and unloved._

_Abandoned._

_Forgotten._

_Maybe then she will be at peace._

* * *

Molly’s eyes fly open. All the physical pain of the experience has vanished, but her heart still races, Loki’s arm still draped over her shoulders.

Before he can protest, she throws her arms around him in the biggest hug she has ever given. He stiffens at the sudden contact, but after a few moments, he slowly, awkwardly returns the embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Loki,” she says against his shoulder. “I know it doesn’t fix anything, but I’m so, so sorry.”

Pulling away from the hug, Molly meets Loki’s eyes. They have lost a bit of their edge now – the hopelessness, the helplessness still there, but the glint of danger has faded. 

She reaches out to grab his hand, but when her fingers brush his, an electric shock shoots up her arm, green sparks twisting around the sleeve of her sweater. 

Molly immediately yanks her hand back from Loki. “What was _that_?” she exclaims, rubbing her now-tingling fingers.

He regards his own hands with amazement as he replies, “Could it be possible? I have only heard tales of it – myths, really – and even then, with a _mortal_?”

“Loki, what are you saying?” 

“There are stories of connections formed only through the transfer of memories. When such a connection occurs, the two people involved can share anything: thoughts, knowledge, emotions…even magic.”

Molly’s eyes widen in disbelief. “ _Magic_?”

He nods slowly, looking up at her at last. “Magic.”

“That’s _amazing_.”

Loki half-grins at her words. “It doesn’t…upset you, does it?”

“No! I mean, it’s definitely going to take some getting used to, but…wow.”

A brief look of genuine happiness fills his eyes, and Molly knows now that it’s the first time anyone has ever been so accepting of his abilities before.

“I wish that this night never had to end,” he says wistfully.

“Me, too.”

They remain quiet for several moments before Loki’s voice breaks through the silence. “He will come back, you know.”

Molly looks at him, confused. “Who?”

“Your detective. He will come back.” Loki smirks at her surprised expression. “I am the god of lies, Molly. I know when someone is lying to me. Although I must admit, your lie was rather convincing.”

“That’s because it wasn’t all a lie,” she replies, sighing. 

“I know.” He pauses again, keeping his eyes fixed on the far wall this time. She watches as he deliberately and visibly gathers his courage for his next words. “I must return.”

“I know,” she echoes quietly. “You don’t belong here, on Earth.”

Loki huffs a laugh, his eyes flicking to hers for an instant before darting away again. “If that is so, why is this the first time in years that I have felt at home?”

She has no answer for that.

“I will not forget you,” he continues, his gaze finally settling back on her eyes. “No matter what comes next, I will never forget what you have done for me.”

She smiles sadly. _Yes you will,_ she thinks, though not bitterly, forgetting for a moment that he can hear her thoughts. _Everyone does. After all – I don’t count._

“I wish you would stop using that phrase,” he admonishes her. “If you still believe that you hold no worth in this universe, then you are sadly mistaken, Molly Hooper. You matter. And you matter to _me_.” The sudden conviction in his otherwise tired voice surprises her.

“Why?” she asks quietly.

“Because I know what it feels like when you do not matter. I know how it feels to be forgotten, pushed aside, like you mean nothing. And now…now I know what it feels like when someone understands you.”

Molly fights back tears at his honest, heartfelt words. “Well, _you_ matter to _me_ ,” she replies, taking his hand in her own. “Don’t ever forget it.”

He gently kisses her hand, like the prince she now knows him to be. “I never will.” 


	6. Chapter 6

_Have you ever thrown a fistful of glitter in the air?_

* * *

The freezing downpour has turned to a light drizzle by now, the pavement glittering in the yellow glow of the streetlights. Loki stands on the sidewalk just beyond the flat’s concrete stairs, Molly watching from a few paces behind. 

He only has enough power left for one final act, his grand finale in this twisted play. After that, he will be completely powerless, at his brother’s – no, not his brother, _Thor’s_ – mercy. Loki hopes that this will make his imprisonment and the journey to Asgard less painful. Without his powers, he poses far less of a threat than he would with them. Thor will not have any reason to use his brute force.

Stretching out his arms slowly, palms up, Loki focuses on the green light pulsing weakly in his mind. He draws it forth, tilting his head back as it flows from within him out into the air, a swirling cloud of emerald glitter spiraling up into the sky. 

As the last flecks leave his fingertips, he turns back to Molly, lowering his arms back down to his sides. “It was a message to Thor,” he explains. “It will inform him of my location. He should arrive in a minute or so.”

Molly nods, crossing her arms against the cold. 

They must say goodbye now. If he waits, it will only become more difficult – for _both_ of them.

“Molly,” he says, taking a step towards her, “you must promise me that whatever happens next, you will not defend me.” She begins to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop her words. “I am a criminal, Molly, and a murderer. But Thor will not truly harm me; you must believe this. Please, Molly. Promise me that you will not fight him. I…” He trails off, unsure of how to continue. “I cannot bear the thought of you being harmed because of me.”

“I promise,” she whispers. He nods, glad she understands. 

She surprises him one more time, throwing her arms around him in a warm embrace. He returns the gesture willingly this time, arms curling naturally around her small frame. 

“I’m going to miss you,” Molly says, her voice muffled by his coat. “I know that sounds insane, because I’ve only known you for six hours. But it’s true.”

“I shall miss you as well,” he replies as they pull away. “You have been a friend to me, Molly, like no one else ever has. I could not have asked for better company after these past few days, filled with so many horrors. Thank you for your trust.” Loki pauses again, considering his words carefully. “I will return to you, someday. When all of this is behind me…I will come back.” He swallows nervously. “If you will allow me, that is.”

Molly smiles, and all his fears disappear. “I’d like that.”

There is a sudden crack of thunder overhead, and Molly jumps. Their time together has ended.

Loki keeps his eyes on Molly the entire time, glancing away only once at Thor when he first crashes into the pavement beside them. He smirks at Molly, tilting his head towards the others as they land. “Did I mention that he travels with a team?” 

Loki does not struggle when Thor chains his hands and feet, nor does he resist when the other Avengers secure a gray metal muzzle over his mouth. He knows that their only aim is to eliminate his greatest weapon – his voice, his lies. 

Molly remains brave the entire time, assuring the Avengers that no, Loki did not harm her; and yes, she will be fine. He is proud of how well she handles it all, even though she fights back tears as they restrain him. 

The team roughly pulls Loki away from Molly’s steps without another word. As they lift themselves into the sky, Molly gradually fading to a dot on the ground, Loki sends his final thought to her through the miles of space dividing them.

_Farewell, Molly Hooper_.

Her reply rings clearly in his mind.

_Until next time, Loki._

Beneath the muzzle, he grins. 


	7. Chapter 7

_There you are, sitting in the garden – clutching my coffee, calling me “sugar.”  
Have you ever held your breath, and asked yourself, “Will it ever get better than tonight?”_

* * *

Four years.

She thinks about him on this day every year. It’s silly and sentimental, she knows, but she can’t help it. 

_Has it been four years there, too? Does he ever think of me?_

The day before she ended her engagement to Tom, a mysterious black spacecraft had landed in the middle of London. An Avenger – Thor, she heard on the news – saved England from destruction.

The newscasters never mentioned his brother, but just the thought of him made her think long and hard about her decision to marry a man she didn’t really love. If Loki’s story taught her anything, it was that everyone deserves the chance to be loved – _truly_ loved. It isn’t fair to hold Tom, or anyone, back from earning that chance.

Thoughts of Loki are far from her mind now, though, as she slams and locks her flat door behind her. She closes her eyes in temporary relief at the safety of home, leaning back against the old wood while the haunting phrase rings in her mind.

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

Sighing, Molly tosses her keys onto the table, setting her purse down on the counter. She has already shed her coat when the complete silence of her flat suddenly strikes her as very, very odd.

_Where’s Toby?_

She searches frantically in every room, calling his name, but there is no sign of the tabby cat. She can’t help but think the worst after the broadcast. 

_Moriarty never liked Toby._

Holding her breath, Molly finally looks in the last place she can think of – below her kitchen window, in the little garden she and her neighbors keep on the side of the building. She immediately smiles with relief at the sight of Toby batting at the snow hanging from one of the low tree branches. 

For one blissful moment, she forgets the broadcast, focusing only on the fact that Toby is unharmed. She practically flies down the stairs, bursting through the door and emerging into the January sunshine.

Her heart stops at the sight that greets her just beyond the threshold.

There is a man clothed in black and gold, a green cape billowing behind him as he crouches down and scratches Toby’s chin. His raven hair is more well-kept than she remembers, falling in soft waves to his shoulders now and giving him a calmer, more respectable air. The lines of worry and exhaustion have disappeared from around his blue-green eyes. He no longer looks haunted – he looks rested, healthy, and… _happy_.

“Loki?”

She is terrified that speaking his name aloud will shatter whatever illusion this is, and he will disappear completely. But he looks up at the sound of his name, and slowly rises to his full height, a small smile spreading across his face when their eyes meet.

“Hello, Molly.”

“Loki!” she shouts, racing towards him. She throws her arms around him, hugging him with every ounce of strength she has. He returns the embrace happily, laughing as Molly peppers him with questions.

“You’re here! You’re alive! Did they let you go? Did your family forgive you? I saw Thor was here, in London! Were you here then? I thought you might have something to do with it, but when I didn’t hear your name, I figured you were back in Asgard. Were you imprisoned? How long did they keep you there?”

Loki releases her gently, grinning as she finally pauses to breathe. “Did you miss me, Molly?” he asks, eyes sparkling.

Molly pulls away as if the words have burned her. 

_Did you miss me?_

“Sorry,” she sputters, irritated that their reunion is forever marred now by Moriarty’s disturbing message. “It’s just…that phrase…. Let’s just say it’s been a strange day.”

“Might it have anything to do with the return of a supposedly dead consulting criminal?”

Molly blinks in confusion…then her eyes widen with realization. “That was _you_?!”

Loki throws his arms wide and bows. “I _am_ called the god of mischief, Molly.” He winks. “Besides, I heard your detective got into a bit of trouble. We couldn’t have that, now, could we?”

“How…how did you _do_ that?! That’s amazing! How did Mycroft not catch on? Or Sherlo—oh my gosh, you saved Sherlock!” Her praise stops short, though, as the true gravity of the situation suddenly dawns on her. “Wait, that’s…that’s horrible! Do you realize how terrified I was? Greg had to drive me here in his police car! I was petrified that my psychopath of an ex-boyfriend would try to kill me on my way home from work!”

“Molly, I never intended to frighten you.”

“I know,” she says, “but I _was_ scared. It probably seems silly to you, but Moriarty was capable of so much. The thought that he might still be out there, coming for me….”

“If it’s any consolation,” Loki says quietly, eyes flashing with mischief, “I promise I’ll never do it again.” 

“You…I…that’s…” Molly sighs, breaking off. “You’re brilliant. Unorthodox and frightening, but brilliant.” His grin spreads into a genuine smile as she continues. “I honestly did miss you.”

“And I you,” he replies. “Molly, I have more news. I have been crowned King of Asgard.”

Her jaw literally drops. “No.”

He grins. “Yes.”

“You’re the _king_. As in…the _king_?” She gestures wildly with her hands as she speaks. “Crown, scepter, throne, palace, and all the people under _your_ rule?”

“Indeed.”

“And who thought _that_ was a good idea?” she asks, equally playful and serious. 

Loki laughs. “No one, I’m sure. But after this past year, I am the only one left to take the throne. My mother was murdered by the elves that attacked London. Odin died only a few weeks later, from grief. And Thor, surprisingly, refused to take the throne. Instead, he chose to remain here, guarding the nine realms while staying beside his mortal.”

“Wow,” Molly states, not even attempting to hide her surprise. “So, Thor just _let_ you take the throne?”

His eyes glint in a way that instantly makes her worry. “Not exactly. I may have taken a page out of your detective’s book in order to convince him that I was worthy of his trust.”

Molly’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Oh?”

“I faked my own death at the hands of the elves.”

“ _Loki!_ ” she scolds.

He lifts his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I know how awful it sounds, but I promise you it was not false at first.” His words do little to reassure her. “I believed I had died. Truly, I did. I lost consciousness for quite some time; yet, somewhere in my mind, my magic – or perhaps my… _true_ form – saved me. When I awoke, I was no longer bleeding, and my magic felt more powerful than ever before. When Thor returned to Asgard, I created an illusion that made him believe he was speaking to Odin. What he confessed regarding the throne was, therefore, spoken to me. I knew he would never trust that I hadn’t done this all for my own gain.” He pauses, allowing her time to process his words. “Molly, I am the King.”

“That’s…” Molly trails off, at a loss for words yet again. “That’s _amazing_.”

He grins again. “I must admit, it does feel wonderful.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re crazy. You know that, right?”

“Of course, Molly. Why else would we have become friends?”

“That’s not fair!” she replies, struggling to keep a straight face. “Not _everyone_ I love is a sociopath!”

Loki raises his eyebrows. “What did I tell you about lying to me, Molly?”

She rolls her eyes dramatically as she gathers Toby into her arms, giving Loki a small smirk. 

_Maybe it’s just my type._

Turning to go inside, she motions for him to follow. 

They have much to discuss. 


End file.
